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He lets out a sound that’s low and growly. At least he’s not laughing at me. A moment later, I hear him talking in rapid Russian. His tone is heavy, but it’s a heavy language, so I can’t tell if he’s mad or just being normal.
I open my eyes just enough to see him drop a cellphone into the middle console cup holder. He was on the phone, so none of that was for me.
Good.
I don’t speak Russian.
“We should be there soon,” he says as the car turns.
I close my eyes for a second.
“You’re vibrating.” He touches my knee. I open my eyes enough to find my purse and fish around.
It stops the moment I pull it out. “Probably just my roommate.” I shove it back in my purse. Whoever it was can leave a voicemail.
“What’s your name again?” I ask on a yawn.
“Maxim.”
“Maxim.” I try it out. “Max.”
“No. Maxim.”
“No one calls you Max?”
“No.”
I stare at his profile for an inappropriate amount of time. His jaw is tense, chiseled, and covered in a short black beard. I wonder if it’s rough or soft.
He wraps his hand around my wrist when I touch his cheek and puts it back in my lap.
“Just rest, we’re almost there,” he says with a sternness that should be throwing all sorts of red flags at me.
“And if I don’t?” I giggle again. “You’ll show me what disobedience gets me?” I try to mimic his earlier tone but ruin it entirely by laughing.
We come to a red light, and he turns a glare on me. “You’ll need water and aspirin; do you have any at home, or should I stop at the pharmacy?” He gestures toward the twenty-four-hour store across the street.
“I have some,” I sigh.
He gets me to my apartment in a blink of an eye. I pour myself out of the front seat before he gets around the car, which earns me another grumbling from him. He grabs hold of my elbow and slides his arm around my waist. Before I’m even a step away from the car, he has me up in his arms like a groom carrying a bride over the threshold.
I don’t bother arguing. I’m too tired and my head is spinning too fast.
“Is she all right?” Natalie’s voice wakes me again when we’re in the apartment.
“She had too much to drink. Which is her room?” His voice rattles his chest.
A minute later I’m in my bed with my shoes peeled off and a blanket thrown over me.
“When you get up, aspirin and water, before you even get out of bed.” He crouches beside my bed, brushing my hair from my face and pointing a finger at me. “Understand?”
“You’re bossy,” I breathe out the accusation and snuggle harder into my pillow. “I don’t hate it.”
“We’ll see.” He touches the tip of my nose, then the light goes out.
I wait for footsteps, a door closing, something to tell me he left.
Nothing comes.
